Mom would let me lay on the couch all day long. Sometimes she would let me watch cartoons or videotaped episodes of “Little House on the Prairie”. I would snuggle up under one of our many homemade afghans, and let Mom take care of me. During the day she was never more than a call away. She'd bring me toast with grape jelly or juice or Popsicles. She'd tell me to, “Keep drinking, Laura, or you'll get dehydrated and feel even worse.” She'd refill my cup as often as I could empty it.

She would come into the living room often and kiss my forehead to see if I had a fever. Rarely did she need a thermometer. God gave her the Mom sense, and by kissing me, she just knew. She'd bring me a cool rag for my forehead and Tylenol to bring the fever down. She'd tell me that she loved me and she was sorry I was so sick.

I always looked forward to Daddy coming home from work on those days that I stayed home sick. He would come into the living room and crouch next to me and ask me how I was feeling. And then more often than not, he would slip me a bag of Skittles or some other little treat. I'd eat them as slow as I could so they would last a long time.

When Mom noticed that I was starting to feel better, she'd always encourage me to go take a shower. “Getting clean will help you feel so much better, Laura.” Boy was she right. After that shower, I always felt like a new person. But the shower always meant that the pampering was about to come to an end. So I'd put that shower off as long as I could.

Now that I'm the adult, and a mom myself, I can see how much my Mom must have sacrificed for me. If I had a bad cold, it was likely that she had a bad cold too. Yet, she lovingly took care of me and made me feel like the most important girl on the planet. She had to go on taking care of the family even when she was sick. She had to push through and cook meals, clean the house, iron the clothes, and answer our endless questions – even when she probably just wanted to crawl into bed and have someone take care of her. Being a mom and being sick is hard. The demands of the family don't stop just because your body isn't working well.

Now that I'm the Mom, I have to make my own pitcher of juice (if there is even any in the freezer). I have to take my own temperature and be responsible for my own medicine. When it's meal time, I have to get up and feed my family. I have to dole out medicine to the little ones when they complain of a sore throat, and I have to slip them a Skittle or two to help them feel better. I have to do what my parents did so well...I have to make my family feel loved even when I feel miserable.